


His Favourite

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fear, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Menstruation, Non-Consensual Body Modification (implied), Pain, Power Imbalance, Self Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Loki is ensconced in the quarters he has managed to get for himself on Sakaar, attempting to work his way through a rather uncomfortable situation - when the Grandmaster arrives at his door, Loki loses his temper, and fears the worst will be his punishment.





	His Favourite

**Author's Note:**

> Anon: wanted to request Loki not feeling well or somthing. But the Grandmaster not wanting to show how worried he is because he doesn't want to look weak or harm his reputation.

Loki lets out a short, pained groan, and he shifts on his side, his head pressed against his pillow, which is markedly cool beneath his skin, and the fabric itself is crusted with frost. The Jötnar, Loki knows, do not tend to beds themselves: they sleep on slabs of cool ice with frozen pieces of stone beneath their heads, and Loki wishes, in this moment, he could indulge in such luxury. Instead, he lies, twitching occasionally, on a bed of luxurious silks and eiderdown pillows, frost forming beneath the weight of his limbs.

He looks up at the ceiling, which is – of course, this is a planet of decadence and excess – panelled in mirrors, and he sees himself in the mirror. His skin is visibly damp, where he is warmer than he ought be and affecting condensation to form before it can turn to frost, and he is breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. His stomach is cramping, his head is _aching_ , and Loki wishes he could be naught but a river rock instead of a man.

Naked, he can see his own cock limp against his thigh, and see the blood between his legs. He might wear some sort of padding, some device or other, but as soon as he thinks of moving, he feels another cramp make itself known, _dragging_ about the muscles deep within his belly and clenching, twisting.

Oh, what _agony_.

A ring sounds from the door to Loki’s private ( _ha!_ ) room in this towering building of Sakaar, and he groans, pressing his face further into the pillow. His hand against his belly, he lets ice form upon his fingers, and he uses it to try to soothe the desperate pains within him.

“ _Hello?”_ comes a voice from the intercom, and Loki feels his blood run hot. The Grandmaster!

“Shit,” Loki mutters to himself, dragging himself hastily from bed and dragging the sheet about his body – with the pain distracting him, his illusions are impossible to maintain, and he is forced to stumble toward the door, leaning heavily on the mirrored wall beside it as he pulls it open.

The Grandmaster stands at the door of Loki’s bedchambers, and he takes Loki’s bedraggled state in: he looks from Loki’s limp hair to his bitten-bloody lips, down to his damp chest and the half-frosted sheets wrapped hap-hazardly around his body, down to Loki’s bare feet. His eyes narrow slightly, and Loki feels his heart leap in his chest.

“You were in bed? At this hour?”

“It’s not dawn yet, Grandmaster,” Loki says, his fist tightening in its grip upon the fabric over his belly, and the Grandmaster lets out a short, single exhalation.

“Well, exactly. It’s way too early to go to bed. Someone in there with you?” Why is he _here_? Loki looks askance between the Grandmaster and the two guards that flank him – Topaz, mercifully, is at least not to be seen – but he gleans no answers.

“No, Grandmaster: I am quite alone.”

“Uh huh,” the Grandmaster says. Loki hears the dry disbelief in his tone, and he feels fear burst within him – _Monogamy_ is just the name of a cocktail here on Sakaar, and he finds it difficult to believe that the Grandmaster would be gentle were Loki to have lain with another in the five days he’s been on this damned planet. Particularly since _they_ have only lain together _once_ , and that was in the midst of an orgy _._ “There’s purple on your mouth.”

“What?” Loki says, and he turns to the mirror, the fingers of his spare hand going up to his lips. The Grandmaster isn’t wrong: there _is_ purple on his lower lip, and he realises when he feels its un-Æsir thickness beneath his fingers that it’s his own blood – these are the worst monthly pains Loki has ever experienced, and it seems even the most basic of his enchantments is failing him. “That’s my blood.”

“Your blood is red, isn’t it?” The Grandmaster presses, and Loki hesitates before he awkwardly shakes his head.

“No, not really,” Loki murmurs, and then says, “Look, Grandmaster, I— This isn’t a good time for me to receive guests, and I must apologize for my appearance, but I’m… Actually rather unwell.”

“Look, ah, _Loki_ — You’re cute and all, but I don’t like to be lied to.”

“I’m _not_ lying,” Loki says, plaintively. “I am _ill_.”

“There’s no illness on Sakaar,” the Grandmaster says, beginning to step forwards, and Loki ungracefully steps back away from him, tripping on the sheet in his hurry to get away and landing in a heap upon the ground, the blanket falling about his waist. “Germs, stuff like that – they’re screened as people come in.”

“Would you just _get out_?” Loki snaps, frost forming on his lips, and suddenly, the world exists in a haze of red: Loki is on his feet, his teeth sharpening even as he looks into the face of the Grandmaster, his hands clenched into fists and _gleaming_ with heated energy – seiðr, in its purest and unadulterated form. “I am not fit to entertain!” The Grandmaster’s hand is around his throat, his grip tight, and all at once, Loki’s magic fails him, the Grandmaster’s lip curling, and Loki flinches at the noise as the door to Loki’s bedchambers slams shut, leaving the two guards outside.

“I thought you were one of those Æsir, but you’re not, are you?” the Grandmaster says, softly, and Loki glances to the ceiling: his flesh is entirely blue, now, and the red haze is explained by the protective lens of deepest crimson that has formed over his eyes. The blood upon his thighs is lilac, now, instead of red, and he feels his shame deep within him. “You can’t talk to me like that, Kiki. People will get the wrong idea.” The Grandmaster squeezes that bit tighter, his grip tight around the column of Loki’s throat, bringing him to the brink of choking, and then he pushes Loki away, and Loki lands on the edge of his bed.

There is something Loki cannot quite place in the Grandmaster’s deep, golden eyes, some strange emotion that Loki has not seen the older man show before. The Grandmaster’s gaze flits from Loki’s face, down between his legs – he had been excited when he had first realised the precise _nature_ of Loki’s sexual organs, but now a dawn seems to break upon his face.

“You got your period, huh?”

“Yes,” Loki says, tiredly. “I’ve never experienced it quite so… Painfully.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the hormone enhancement,” the Grandmaster says, lowly. Loki meets his gaze, his own eyes lidded, and his silent, _raging_ question is answered: “Everyone one this planet is horny all the time, and with no, ah, _impulse_ control. You think that’s an accident? I’m not _stupid_. Gotta keep people off their game.”

The Grandmaster reaches out, and Loki flinches, expecting some sort of touch that will send him burning to ashes, or _melting_ , but no such thing comes: the Grandmaster’s fingers settle upon Loki’s belly, his usually warm hands surprisingly cool, and Loki lets out a low groan of relief as the pain within him is steeped in some sort of magical anaesthesia, forcing the cramping muscles to still themselves. The Grandmaster’s lips are parted, his gaze deep with something _more_ than mere concern at having a bed-mate put out of action, and Loki feels the fear and apprehension he usually feels around the Grandmaster stir beneath his skin. The Grandmaster is so _powerful_ , and yet here, he seems capable of kindness.

Is he a greater fool than Loki had thought?

“Listen,” the Grandmaster murmurs, “I, uh, I _like_ you, Loki. So I’m gonna put this little, this little  disagreement behind us. I’m gonna stay here tonight, and we’re gonna say, for, ah, _appearances_ ’ sake, that you made up for that nastiness you just showed me.”

“Grandmaster,” Loki whispers, but it is not quite within him to protest, exhausted as he is, and he drops back upon the bed as the Grandmaster goes to the door, ordering his two guards to leave him be. He watches the reflection in the ceiling as the Grandmaster casts off his outer robe, then climbs onto the bed, dragging Loki up to lie beside him. And then—

His eyes close.

“Grandmaster?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re… Are you going to sleep?”

“Sure am. Some species, they uh, they _need_ a bit of shut-eye, but I just do it for the fun of it. That okay?” Loki stares at him in the reflection, and then shakes his head. “ _Great_.” The Grandmaster drags him closer, his palm settling on Loki’s belly and releasing more of that wonderfully _numbing_ magic, and Loki sighs, letting his own eyes close. “You’re my favourite, Loki. Don’t want to see the goods get too damaged.”

 _My favourite_. The words echo in Loki’s head – he should be terrified of this Elder Being, this man with boundless power at his fingertips, who kills indiscriminately and laughs in the face of genocide, and yet— _His favourite! His favourite! His **favourite!**_ _Even bloody, and pained, and angry, you are his favourite!_

Without even realising, Loki’s teeth burst through the flesh of his lower lip once more, and he tastes the acid tang of his own Jotunn blood, his red eyes wide. As the Grandmaster softly snores beside him, holding Loki in his palm like the _insect_ Loki is in comparison, Loki stares at their reflection on the ceiling, and ignores the sting at the corners of his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.


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